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Daphne as a Drum

Hola Everybody,Here I was getting ready to post a blog on my fave film genre, Film Noir, and I got caught up in Rippa’s blog on whether prayer works! Dang! lol

I gotta go hit the streets. Today, I’m posting a poem that caught my eye last night while at a bookstore. It’s from an anthology titled, “The Wind Shifts: New Latino Poetry,” edited by Francisco Aragon. I know Nina will appreciate this one…

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Daphne as a Drumpa’ Juan

In a clearing, the percussionist pausesnoticing the dark hipsin a tree’s shape.

He puts his arms aroundthe curve of its waist and holds on,ear pressed to the trunk.

He strokes the barkwith calloused hands.Daphne aches inside

her home. She wants to bendand let down her hair when his palmsbrush her stiff back and behind.

He whispers, you are redinside, full of music.So, he fells the tree,

rhythms thudding, echoingfrom the fallen trunk.Slowly, delicately he scoops out

everything, the sapsticking to his fingersAnd when it is over

her figure remains in the woodencontours, waist and hipsresponding below the taut skin